


This Music We Made Together

by skadventuretime



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Dorks in Love, F/M, M/M, One Shot Collection, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Some Sad Feelings, and black star, i'm sorry wes is like this, late 90s early 00s video game nostalgia, look there will probably be puns at some point, this is just who i am don't look at me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10077605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skadventuretime/pseuds/skadventuretime
Summary: One-shot/prompt/drabble collection. Usually from tumblr, usually also on FFN and being slowly composted here.





	1. Bookstore

**Author's Note:**

> An anon tumblr prompt to begin stretching out of the post-Resbang slump. Please accept this little bit of ridiculousness as I adjust to writing in the past tense and dip my toes into Deathstar. 
> 
> Prompt: I am shopping in your bookstore and you didn’t notice my mother was standing directly behind me when you really blatantly hit on me. - Soma

It started out as a dare.

More like a challenge, really, one to see who could ask out their respective crushes first, and Maka _refused_ to lose to her muscle-headed nincompoop of a neighbor who still insisted on being called by his childhood alter ego's name.

Black Star. More like Black _Death_ the way his nonsense seemed to kill all logic and reason with the speed and ferocity of deadly bacteria.

Gritting her teeth, Maka peered around the edge of the bookshelf she had strategically chosen for surveillance purposes - it was far enough away from the checkout that the grumpy object of this godforsaken mission would have a hard time seeing her, but close enough that she could gauge both how busy the store was and how tired he seemed. If she played her cards right, she could walk up when there were few people around, dazzle him with some tried and true wordplay that she had spent all of the previous night researching, and then be done before he woke up enough to realize he'd agreed to go on a date with someone as pathetically endowed as her.

She lurked in the sci-fi/fantasy section for another thirty minutes while the lunch rush came through, nearly forgetting about her mission entirely when she overheard a couple of teens talking about Anne McCaffrey's _Dragonriders of Pern_ series and getting into an animated discussion about the pros and cons of being soul-bonded to another sentient being. But then they left, and the relative quiet reminded Maka she had a job to do.

A final peek around the shelf confirmed that there was nobody else in the store but her and Sir Slouches-A-Lot. Remembering the Internet's reminder that men like confident, assertive women, she put on her competitive jiujitsu face and strode up to the counter with her back straight and her head held high. Her script was memorized. Her research was iron-clad. There was no way this could end in failure.

"Do you have a name or can I just call you mine?" she asked him in the most neutral tone she could manage. No need to pull out the sultry yet - all of the articles she'd read had agreed that pacing was important.

"Excuse me?" he stuttered, eyes wide as he half-tripped, half-collapsed onto the counter.

Maka frowned. It seemed the initial line didn't work so well - perhaps something more poetic would get the point across. "Do you have a map? I'm getting lost in your eyes." That should definitely provoke the needed response - his eyes were a brilliant shade of wine-red that did funny things to her stomach when she thought about it too much, but she supposed that was why Black Star teased her about him so often. That'll stop when she wins this bet, though. Surely Star couldn't be faring any better with Kid given his utter inability to form coherent sentences that didn't involve some inane portmanteau of 'bro' and the meme of the week.

"I'm sorry, I still don't understand?" he wheezed, red splotches making his cheeks glow in an awkward, adorable way. "Do you uh, need some help finding something in the store?"

Maka took a calming breath. _Of course_ she'd fall for the one who couldn't take a hint. Third time's the charm, they say, so she summoned her most seductive smile (the amount of time she spent practicing it in the mirror the night before was borderline embarrassing) and said, "Are you my appendix? I have a pain in my side that makes me feel like I should _take you out."_ If he missed the subtext of that last bit, she might have to resort to some of the more drastic measures mentioned in the article, like showing up at his window with a boombox and 80s music or giving him a bouquet of roses, and flowers were _expensive._

"Are you hitting on me?" he said, voice cracking in the middle and rising an octave or so while he looked at her with a strange mixture of incredulity and something a little like hope.

"It appears that way, Soul," an amused voice said to their right, and _oh god, someone else was there the whole time._ She had waist length blond hair, fine cheekbones, and some of the sharpest eyeliner Maka had ever seen. With a growing sense of horror, Maka realized this must be his mother.

Soul jumped and turned to face her, groaning when he saw the satisfied smirk and delicately placed hands on hips. "Why are you here? Weren't you doing inventory?"

"Now now, is that any way to treat family?" she chided, still smiling while moving past Soul to collect a stack of receipts by the register.

"I try to forget I'm related to you," he grumbled, scrubbing at his face in a vain attempt to rid himself of the color in his cheeks. "Don't you have better things to do than creep around up front?"

She laughed and ruffled his hair with an easy kind of affection that made something in Maka's heart twinge. What it must be like, to have a mother like that.

"I'll leave you two kids alone. I can't be late to my modeling gig, anyway. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" She winked and, after making her way around the counter towards the door, turned and stage-whispered to Maka, "And that only involves anything without clearly negotiated safe words and boundaries, so have at it!" Another wink and she was gone, the small bell above the door chiming her exit.

"Your mom seems nice," Maka said cautiously, not wanting to say much more because Soul already seemed like he was one wrong look away from disintegrating on the spot and she was busy trying to figure out how to steer this conversation back to dates.

 _"Mom?"_ he said, aghast. "That wasn't my mother, that was my _brother."_

Now it was Maka's turn to blush. "Oh! I'm sorry, I guess I presumed with the hair and — do you think he can teach me how to do eyeliner like that? I always mess it up."

Soul's laugh was more like a whimper while he lowered his face into his arms, sinking onto the small stool behind the counter like he wished he could simply fade away. "Probably. He's always picked to do high fashion stuff like this."

Maka allowed him one minute of embarrassed sulking before clearing her throat and asking, "So, is that a yes?"

He raised his head, confusion breaking through the pained set of his features. "Huh?"

"Will you go out with me?" she said impatiently, glancing at the clock. Kid had gotten out of orchestra almost an hour ago and she didn't want to risk Star somehow being smooth enough to fingergun his way into a relationship before she could apply her hours of thoroughly researched technique.

"I mean, that sounds—" He's cut off by the door slamming wide to none other than Black Star and Kid, the latter wearing an impeccable neutral face despite Star's large bicep curling into the back of his neck from the arm around his shoulder.

"'Sup nerds," Star said, sauntering over to join them by the counter. "This hot piece of sass agreed to go out with me just a few minutes ago, and given the awkward tension I felt from down the street, you two haven't even gotten to the confession yet. So I'm gonna say _booyah_ and you lose, Maks." He raised his other hand over his head, fist formed, and didn't break eye contact with Maka as Kid sighed and lifted his fist to bump Star's.

Maka seethed. She'd been so close! All of her planning, her _research_ , was for nothing after all.

"Actually, she was just waiting for me to finish my shift," Soul said, glancing between Black Star and Maka. "She asked me out hours ago, and we're also heading out on our first date soon."

She tried not to look so surprised when he made eye contact with her then, that warm feeling coming back in waves and allowing her to return his smile with a genuine one of her own. "Yeah, right. We're thinking about a movie."

Star gaped at the two of them. "Are you kidding me? Punch Ya Albarn got a date before _moi?_ Jeez man, we gotta be friends if this one's nerdery didn't scare you away. We were going to the movies, too, so how about a double date?"

"Sounds good to us," Maka said.

"Great, we'll meet you out front." Black Star and Kid walked back outside, and the longer Maka looked at them, the more she saw the bashful tilt to Star's smile and the small fidgets he made when Kid leaned into his arm. It looked like Star wouldn't be the only one with teasing ammo.

"Thanks, by the way. For covering me," Maka said to Soul when the others were out of earshot. "We'd had a bet about who could ask their crushes out on a date first and—"

"I'm your crush?" Soul looked dazed again, but this time with such an honest, open smile that Maka couldn't help but indulge the melting emotion lapping at her heart.

"Yeah, you are," she said, tamping down her own starstruck expression and remembering the need to project confidence. "I spent a lot of time looking up how to flirt. I'm glad it wasn't all for nothing." 

"Well, that's cool because you've been my crush for a while." That wide-open smile seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face, and he held out his hand to her as he walked towards the door. "But just so you know, you shouldn't take dating advice from cheesy pick-up line sites."

Maka's eyes widened. "How did you know where I sourced my information?"

Laughing, Soul enveloped her hand in his and opened the door. "Call it a hunch."


	2. Are you still mad?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from forever ago that's been lurking on FFN and is now finally over here. The prompt was 'Are you still mad?' and I regret none of the self-indulgent video game references.

Low bass thrums through the dimly lit house, reverberating off basement walls to settle uncomfortably in Soul's bones. Pairs of people face off in a competitive game of beer pong in one corner, while in another an old N64 has been brought out for lightning rounds of Goldeneye, Turok, and Mario Kart. The cement wall is cold and uncomfortable against his back while he leans against it, striving for that aloof 'don't talk to me' vibe because he's _really_ sick and tired of people trying to make conversation. It's bad enough he had to slog through the general anxiety of winter finals last week, wondering for the umpteenth time if _this_ class would be the one that sends him packing, if _this_ class would dip his already tenuous GPA below the admittance threshold and jettison him far from his newfound friends. Far from Maka.

For the tenth time in as many minutes, he glances at where she's sitting by the N64, schooling some blond pretty boy in what looks like a slaps-only round of Goldeneye. She's been dominating party games all night while he was knocked out of the first round of a Rainbow Road showdown. He never could land that fucking shortcut jump. Sighing, he unsticks himself from the wall and makes for the stairs, wondering if this bitter kernel of jealousy he feels for the games is what she feels for music. She's certainly glared at his composition sheets enough for him to wonder.

The early winter air is crisp and bracing against his face when he steps outside, a welcome change from the miasma of bro-sweat that hangs heavy in the basement. He'd discarded his jacket hours ago and is left in a threadbare tee, but he'd rather be cold than surrounded by people for another minute. How does Maka do it? She'd been radiant, bubbly, and fierce taking down all the wannabe gamer boys, red solo cup in hand as she laid waste to the hopes and dreams of everyone trying to dethrone Maka 'Oddjob' Albarn. It's like their constant interaction and cries for mercy fuel her, something as alien to him as her desire to come here in the first place. But he is her faithful, painfully platonic roommate and he has a duty to make sure she gets home safely.

Leaning back, he looks at the stars glimmering faintly in the light polluted sky, letting his eyes unfocus so they blur together like a child smeared white paint on dark canvas. If he stares too long at the stars themselves, he'll think about how their twinkle mimics the one in Maka's eyes and how he wouldn't have to think twice about his wish if he saw a shooting star. He already recites it to himself on nights when nightmares consume him, thoughts of holding her tightly and kissing the tips of her fingers releasing the panicked tension in his chest. But he knows it's a one-sided attraction, knows she doesn't want anything other than a casual friend to share living expenses with.

"Hey, what're you doing out here all alone? Are you still mad I whooped your ass in Mario Kart?" Her voice shoots adrenaline through his system both because it's unexpected _and_ because he's constantly lowkey listening for it. 

Whipping around, he mumbles, "Geez Maka, way to sneak up on me."

Her eyes reflect the patio lights and that golden-green hue is breathtaking. Her laugh manages to be both soft and hearty, like she's actually enjoying herself around him, and she says, "I noticed you were gone when I finished that last round. Came to see what you were up to."

Soul is still puzzling over the fact that she cared enough to come find him when the wind picks up and he's shivering, frigid air slicing through his thin shirt. Concern flickers across Maka's face and before he can even posture to object, she's shrugging out of her oversized hoodie and holding the bottom open expectantly. "Well?" she asks, impatient. "Get in before you freeze to death."

"I won't frmumph-" He's cut off by Maka tugging him down to her level with a fist in his t-shirt and shoving the hoodie over his head, to hell with his protests. It's warm and soft and drenched in her smell, and he finds himself dragging it over the rest of his body slowly so he can savor it. "Uh, thanks Maka," he says after he pops his head out the other side. She stifles a chuckle, and Soul looks down at himself to see what's so funny. It may be oversized on her, but on him, it's a glorified short-sleeved belly shirt, and he internally groans at how ridiculous he must look.

As if she could hear his self-deprecating thoughts, she says, "It actually looks pretty cute, don't worry." And then, of all things, she _blushes._ Huh. "So, is that better?" she asks, looking up at him through blond lashes with a curious fire in her eyes.

"Mm," he confirms, snuggling into it further. He catches her looking at him, the ghost of something possessive in her eyes disappearing the moment they make eye contact. "But aren't you cold now? You're hardly better off than I was with that tank top." He glances down at her spaghetti straps in what he intends to be a disapproving grimace, but ends up with something more like reverence when he notices the jut of her collarbone and the definition in her shoulders. Maka has always been so strong, so unyielding in personality that he forgets her body reflects it, too.

He's still staring when she shivers slightly, and he watches with fascination as gooseflesh pebbles her arms. Without thinking, he reaches over to rub them away, thumb tracing circles on the smooth skin of her biceps. For some reason it doesn't seem to be helping (if anything she's shivering _more_ ), so he does the next best thing he can think of and wraps his arms around her back, crushing her to his chest. 

"Uh, sorry, d'you wanna go inside or something? I just saw you shivering and we can share body heat this way and I'm sorry if I shouldn't be doing this and-" His words are cut off by a firm headbutt to the solar plexus, small hands grabbing his (her) hoodie and once again pulling him down to eye level. He gets a glimpse of smoldering evergreen before she closes the distance between them and, wow, her lips are a taste of heaven.

She withdraws just as quickly as she swooped in, uncertainty coating her gaze like oil on water. "Does that answer your question?" she asks, looking anywhere but his face.

Soul brings a hand up to touch his lips (was that actually _real?_ ), saying, "Maybe? Wait, no, of course not; you've been drinking all night and I am _not_ gonna be that guy. Let's go back in and play more games and go home to sleep it off." What reason besides alcohol would Maka have to kiss him?

Stepping around her proves futile, glommed as she is to his chest, and somewhere along the way she's placed her feet on top of his. Add to that the grip she still has on his hoodie and it looks like he's not going anywhere. Soft puffs of her breath tickle his face when she whispers, "Actually, I haven't been drinking all night. That was water in my solo cup; I didn't want you to feel left out being the only one not having alcohol."

Oh. _Oh._ He opens his mouth to probably trip over his tongue again, but she catches his bottom lip between hers and the warmth that spreads through him is entirely too distracting to hold a cohesive train of thought. His cheeks are next on her kiss hit list, each one anointed with gentle pressure before she dots one on the tip of his nose and leans back. "In case I wasn't clear, I like you, doofus."

"I got that now," he rasps, face aflame and heart doing its best to pound its way out of his chest. _She likes him?! She likes him!_ A slow grin creeps across his face and he says, belatedly, "I like you too. A lot. I like you a whole lot."

Little did he know her eyes could shine brighter than the stars. Worming her way out of his embrace, she grabs his hand and tows him towards the sliding doors that lead to social hell, a different kind of fire in her expression as she says, "C'mon, I told them we'd play the winners in water pong. They don't know they're going up against the strongest team this side of the quad!"

Partnership echoes with new meaning in Soul's head as he lets himself be drawn back downstairs, the butterflies in his stomach replaced by a ball of warmth he's sure stems from the heat of Maka's hand. Later that night, when everyone else has either passed out or gone home, Soul rests his lips on her forehead in their shared sleeping bag and thinks that maybe parties aren't so bad after all.


	3. To The Bone

She’s done everything right, you know. The proof is all around her, puncturing the cadence of her voice when she spits case law like spoken word, stalking her name in effusive headlines and a pristine Wikipedia biography, bleeding out across her Manhattan apartment with its gleaming marble countertops and untouched stainless steel appliances. Modern, the realtor had called it, fit for any young up-and-coming professional like herself who wanted to change the world.

(Can you really change the world? Or does it end up changing you?)

Maka takes a sip of gin number two and loads her social media pages with the kind of loving care Liz applies to assembling her favorite rifle. Ah, looks like Blake and Tsu’s daughter is doing well, smiling wide for the camera with dirt stains on her overalls. Mom and dad beam at her in the background, this product of their steadfast, loving relationship. Better leave a nice comment so they don’t know Auntie Maka is a hateful little human who only sees pictures like these as another reminder of what she’ll never have.

Don’t get her wrong, she’s happy for them. Happy for all of her friends. But that doesn’t silence the little voice in her head whispering _where is your hand to hold, your lips to kiss?_ Yes, she knows it’s petty and unproductive to get sad at others’ happiness; _yes,_ she knows she should be out trying to ‘do something about it’ – she knows more than the sniveling idiots who try to counsel her think she does. _Knowing_ has never been the problem – she’s Maka fucking Albarn, top of her class at Columbia Law School, most sought-after public defender on the East Coast – but knowledge alone does not translate into action, nor ward away the crippling loneliness that saps her will to do anything at all.

The lump in her throat means it’s time for another drink and another page. Kid and Liz are celebrating their fifth anniversary in the French Alps, _sip,_ looks like Jackie and Kim had a radiant wedding complete with a ring-bearing crow, _sip,_ Killik and Harvar bought a house together in California and can’t wait to begin the adoption process, _sip,_ Stein and Marie are treating each other to foot massages and lazy brunches while their daughter is in summer camp, _sip, sip, sip._

So many blissful couples. So much _love_ on her news feed.

It makes her sick.

Oh, she knows the drill, knows the chorus of, ‘It’ll happen eventually!!!’ ‘You just have to be patient!!!’ ‘Work on yourself first!!!’ ‘Don’t compare your path to someone else’s!!!’ that everyone spews like a well-intentioned plague, because what do you _think_ she tells herself at night, curled up with a pillow to her chest on her too-large bed?

_Ah, but you have such a great life,_ Maka reminds herself. Running through the checklist is compulsive at this point: good food on the table, a warm bed at night, more than enough money to sustain her, life in a conflict-free zone, a loving father, kind friends. Stupid girl, not content with these things that other people would kill to have.

The only relief comes from nights like these when she allows herself to crumble. It’s a compromise she’s made to stay sane during the workweek – no tears before 8 PM, no social media except one weekend a month. It’s impossible _not_ to compare herself to others; this is how she was raised, daughter of the best attorney in the United States. To win, she had to be better than her peers. To be better than her peers, she had to measure her test results against theirs, her GPA to the next highest contender, her physical appearance to the accepted norm, and when she came out on top it was then _and only then_ that she could deem herself worthy.

The search bar beckons. Just one more person to check in on, now. Her glass has been empty for the last ten minutes but she brings it to her lips anyway, chases away thoughts of feeling warm lips instead of cold glass, and types his name.

Soul’s wife is beautiful. Or rather, her outline looks beautiful through gin-fogged eyes and a screen that has seen better days. He looks happy, though, the kind of happy you grow into after accepting the best of bad options. His father was always pushy about having an heir to his business, and when Wes got engaged to another man, it fell to Soul to ‘continue the family line.’ Mr. Evans threatened to disown his eldest son unless Soul found a spouse, a _female_ spouse, and Soul couldn’t bear to let the brother who had protected him all those years be left with nothing.

First one, then two, then a steady stream of tears trickles down her nose. It’s all she can do to hug her knees to her chest before the screen blurs to shimmering patches of white and the first sob steals her breath.

_You didn’t know._

_You didn’t know._

_You didn’t know._

She couldn’t have known at 21, fresh out of undergrad with a dream to fight for the underserved, how little time she had. She couldn’t have known how one answer, spoken in stumbling tongues while mama’s goodbye and papa’s late night tears buzzed in the back of her mind, would unmake so many doors she now desperately wishes to open.

Marriage right out of college was the definition of moving too fast for Maka, whose closest romantic encounter had been when Soul fell asleep on her after game night. But maybe then she’d be wearing matched flower crowns and goofy grins on Snapchat, too, or settling in to watch a movie next to someone who writes good morning notes on staff paper and calls her out when she’s being stubborn.

_You didn’t know._

There is a longing in her bones, deep and aching and endless. It overwhelms the fading voice that whispers _patience, patience my child,_ because she no longer knows the difference between patience and fear. Is she waiting for the next ‘right’ person to come along, or is she too scared to even look?

The room begins to spin, so Maka rests her head on the still-whirring laptop and closes her eyes. It doesn’t matter whether she is brave or patient or worth it because at the end of the day, she is still alone.

And she has already missed her chance.


End file.
